


Wanted: Cozy bookstore. Coffee mandatory, cute employee optional.

by goldenheadfreckledheart



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 10:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7219387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenheadfreckledheart/pseuds/goldenheadfreckledheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cute blonde girl starts lurking around during Bellamy's shifts at the bookstore, which he's totally okay with until he finds out she's kind of an asshole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanted: Cozy bookstore. Coffee mandatory, cute employee optional.

**Author's Note:**

> BFF fill for the prompt: B works at a bookstore and C is a stalker and likes to draw him. (in the noncriminal way of course) and B knows she’s there but he likes to see her too.
> 
> Titles are hard, man, idk.

Bellamy works weird hours at the bookstore. His schedule is irregular at best, picking up the shifts that his co-workers don’t want: early mornings, late nights, long afternoons. Constantly changing. It works for him, giving him plenty of time to take online courses, visit Octavia at school, grab lunch with her from time to time. It gives him freedom, to some extent, and he likes it.

But with such an abnormal schedule, he never really expects to get regulars, customers who he can talk and banter with to make the hours go by quicker, and it’s definitely one of the downsides. Or, it is until he starts noticing the blonde girl who keeps appearing, curled up in the deepest armchair at the far window, always buried in a sketchbook, and, as he begins to be aware of her,  _ always _ around during his shifts.

She never says anything, or buys anything, but it’s not like the seating area is ever crowded anyway, so she’s not in the way. And he can definitely appreciate the need for a quiet place to think.

But, as often as she comes, he can’t really call her a  _ regular _ , because they’ve never actually spoken. He wouldn’t call himself a particularly social person, but he keeps thinking he should say something to her, start a conversation, but every time she looks up from the well-loved sketchpad, and he thinks it won’t be too awkward to ask what she’s drawing, she’s right back to her intense concentration before he can even try drift over to her.

So, he just goes on in silence with the blonde girl in the corner, ever dressed in airy sundresses that make her look like the personification of summer itself, and don’t do good things for his sanity.

He thinks he nearly catches her eyes a couple times, but she looks away in a way that makes him think that either didn’t notice him, or she just really doesn’t want to make friends. Which is fine. He can respect that. It’s not like he’s paid to make friends anyway.

He doesn’t figure out that she’s apparently an  _ asshole _ until a couple weeks later, which totally ruins any feelings of goodwill he had toward her.

A customer comes in that day, looking to spark an interest in Roman history, which he is so obviously equipped to help with (he can hear Octavia’s groans of “Oh my god, you  _ nerd _ ,” in the back of his head) and he’s pretty excited to give some recommendations. Their ancient history section is directly adjacent to the blonde girl’s corner and he tosses a smile her way, even though he knows she won’t be looking up to see it. He might have a soft spot for slightly intense, pretty girls. Sue him.

After that, he doesn’t pay much attention to her, getting a little lost in giving his customer an overview of their stock, pointing out the authors he tends to gravitate toward for their creative voice and modern ideas of historical analysis, and which ones—usually too white and male and pretentious to actually write an interesting book, unscathed by bigotry—to avoid.

He does a pretty good job, he thinks, and the customer seems satisfied, so he steps away after a few minutes to let them make their selection.

As he walks back toward the counter, he casts a glance toward his quiet regular, a sort of habitual thing he does since he started to notice how many different facial expressions she makes, depending on her level of attention and engrossment in the sketchbook. So it’s a bit of a jolt when her eyes meet his, full on, allowing him to notice for the first time that her eyes are strikingly blue.

She looks away with a bit of a jerk after a second, like she didn’t intend to make contact for so long, and it wouldn’t bug, him except that he catches sight of her glare, cast out toward the window, and the shake of her head just as he turns away.

Which—he’s not really sure what to make of that. The only thing he can possibly think is that maybe she doesn’t agree with his recommendations, thinks he’s stupid, or pretentious. He’s not sure which is worse, but honestly, he’s not going to school for history for nothing, and he’s still pretty happy with his recommendations, so he pushes it from his mind. Maybe she’s just having a rough day.

Except it keeps happening.             

Anytime he gives recommendations near her chair—sci-fi, autobiography, history—she’ll be glaring burning holes down into her sketchpad by the time he finishes, and he starts considering that she just really doesn’t like him for some reason. It’s not even like he feels like his opinions on books are always the  _ right _ ones, but he does think he has some insightful comments to make on most subjects, and seeing her furrowed-brow glare every time gets him thinking that she might just be kind of a dick.

One day she scowls at him—or, glares out the window, as is her habit—just for sweeping the floor near her.

He considers telling her that no one’s  _ making  _ her come in during his shifts. Because she’s still there for most of them, coming in five or so minutes after he clocks in, and it’s—he’s not exaggerating when he says his schedule is irregular, which means this girl literally goes out of her way to come in and judge him during his shifts and it’s starting to get  _ irritating _ .

Still, he still doesn’t have the heart to confront her, or kick her out, because, though he’s never seen her buy a book, she does frequent their café area, so she’s still a paying customer. During his break one day, Bellamy mentions her to Raven, who mans the espresso machine with an iron grip, and is solely responsible for making their coffee the best cup in town.

“Clarke?” she says after he mentions the blonde. “Yeah, she’s badass. Good taste in coffee too.”

“She’s not like, a total asshole to you?” he asks, trying not to sound as disbelieving as he feels.

Raven cackles. “Oh my god, what did you do?”

“What did  _ I  _ do?”

“Yeah,  _ you. _ Clarke’s cool, and we all know you’ve got a penchant for being grumpy and abrasive,” she says, like this is absolutely common knowledge. “I bet you said something douche-y to her that you don’t even remember.”

“I’ve never even  _ spoken  _ to her! I’ve literally done nothing that could possibly offend her,” he bites, more defensive than he intends.

Raven just stares at him for a moment before dissolving into laughter.

“ _ What? _ ”

“You’re hardcore crushing on her, aren’t you?”

“I don’t crush on people who are assholes for no reason,” he grumbles, opting not to mention how endeared he’d been by her in the beginning. If any superficial crushing had been happening, it certainly wasn’t anymore.

“Takes one to know one,” she says with a shrug and a grin.

“God, you’re as annoying as Octavia,” he glares briefly, turning to head back to the registers as his break comes to an end.

“Tell your sister I say hi!” Raven singsongs after him.

The next day, there’s another customer who wants a recommendation, which means that the girl— _ Clarke _ —is predictably glaring down at her sketchbook by the time he finishes, and he is seriously considering asking her what her problem is if she’s still there when his break rolls around.

Before it does though, she appears at the register, holding one of the books he’d been raving about, of all things.

He should really, seriously, be professional, but his impulsive reaction is an expectant look and a raised eyebrow.

She blushes prettily at his look, and fidgets with the book a little, which is really unfair. Assholes shouldn’t be this cute.

“I, um—I’d like to buy this?” It comes out like a question.

He takes the book from her with a nod, passing the barcode over the scanner. It’s one of his all-time favorites.

“Reading this so you can come back and critique it?” he asks, because Raven isn’t wrong; he is kind of an asshole.

“What?” she responds, looking up at him. She looks genuinely surprised, and kind of embarrassed still. He’s having a hard time justifying the girl in front of him with the judgmental jerk who glares whenever he comes within two feet of her.

Still, he needs the clarification. “You, uh, you always get angry when I’m recommending books to people. Because you think I’m a pretentious idiot, I assumed.”

The shock on her face by the time he finishes the sentence already tells him that he’s wrong. And shock fades into another blush as she laughs softly, which is not the kind of reaction he expects.

“That’s um, yeah. That would be the logical conclusion, for sure,” she says with an embarrassed smile.

“So, you don’t think I’m a pretentious idiot, then?” he asks, intrigued in spite of himself. “Because I’m still a little confused.”

“Yeah no, that’s not what I think. It’s just,” she gestures indistinctly, like she’s nervous, but trying not to look it, “you’ve already got the whole hot nerd look going, and then you open your mouth and not just  _ eloquent _ but actually  _ intelligent _ words come out and it’s just—not fair.”

He’s pretty sure he blinks a few times before a slow grin forms on his face of its own accord. “Anyone ever tell you you have low standards for guys?”

She smiles back, wide and blinding, and he might need a minute. Or twenty. “Yeah. But you’d understand if you’d seen the guys I’ve dated. The girls have been a little better, but not by much.”

He considers. “I mean, yeah. I think I’d have to be with you on that. A couple of guys I used to hook up with were total dicks.”

“In both meanings of the word?” she supplies, and he has to laugh in surprise.

“Yeah, definitely. Girls are way more stable.”

She smiles again and it’s definitely doing good things for his ego as he gets back to work on ringing her up.

“So what are you always drawing over there?” he asks, wanting to prolong the conversation now that judge-y hot girl is apparently just awkward-but-funny hot girl. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

She flushes again like her skin actually can’t help it, but when she speaks, she pushes the words out like a challenge. Like she refuses to be embarrassed.

“You, mostly.”

The blushing thing might be contagious.

“Yeah?” he coughs, not quite looking at her.

She smiles a little, sympathetic. “Sorry if that’s awkward, but I already told you I think you’re hot and eloquent, so I figure there’s not really much for me to lose here.”

“And am I a good subject?” he asks, for a lack of a smoother response, handing her the bag, and trying not to lose his cool, because he’s still not sure this is actually happening.

She hums, “Very. The whole freckles and jawline thing works for you.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I can definitely take credit for my face structure. That’s all me. No genetics involved.”

She’s taken the bag from him, but she’s still here, grinning, and it’s as good an indication as any that he should take a chance.

He rubs a hand at the back of his neck. “As long as we’re being candid here, I was pretty upset the girl I thought was a judgmental asshole was ridiculously, distractingly cute.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m Clarke,” she says, holding out a hand and looking delighted.

“Bellamy,” he returns.

“So now that we’re introduced, I can ask you out to coffee, right?” she asks, biting her lip, grinning up at him.

“Yeah, you definitely can.”

She sticks around until his shift ends, and they get coffee from Raven, because honestly she’d probably kill him if he went anywhere else, and she definitely laughs at him.

But Clarke’s grinning at him the whole time, warm and wide, so it’s not like he got the short end of the deal.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always on [tumblr](http://www.goldenheadfreckledheart.tumblr.com) if you wanna hang.


End file.
